First, Last and Only
by DebajoDeLaCafeina
Summary: Inspired by Season 3's Ravenous. Ziva's father never went to watch her dance recitals. What if, just once, he showed up? Zivacentric. Involves...ahem, dancing sunbeams but not as wierd as it sounds.


(Disclaimer: We don't own NCIS. It is a passion and an escape from having to do coursework/homework, but it doesn't belong to us. This came to me after watching Season 3's Ravenous, when Ziva is interrogating Edom. His alibi for the murders they were investigating was that he was at his daughters dance recital, and then Ziva said the quote that gave me the idea for this - 'I used to spend most of my time onstage searching for my father's face in the audience, but he was never there...not even when he promised to come...' (or something like that...) It put the caffeine-fueled gears of my brain into action and having finished my coursework I had time to spare. So here goes. What might have happened if one day Ziva's father did make it to her dance recital?...)

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Eight-year-old Ziva stood at the edge of the stage, peeking around the curtain to try and get a good look at the audience. The other little girls crowded round her and made it near enough impossible to get close to the curtains - and their instructor was shooing them away from them, trying to keep them quiet and in check until they got onstage. This was the dance class annual concert and the biggest one of the year - they couldn't afford to have it messed up by a gaggle of over-excited eight year olds. Yet amongst the chattering, excited children Ziva stood silent, going over the steps for her dance and also hoping, praying, wishing for her father to come tonight, to be there when she got on stage for her performance. He knew the date, she was sure of it; she had even marked it on the calendar so he would know when it was. He hadn't mentioned that he was coming tonight; but Ziva hoped he was just doing it to surprise her when he came. Just like he had every other time. And the only surprise had been at first when he was nowhere to be found. After a while, when he still didn't show up for a single recital, the feeling of being lost and alone when all the other little girls ran to be congratulated by their parents after the recital and Ziva was left alone didn't surprise her any more. 

'Ready, girls...' the instructor called; and despite her anxiety Ziva felt a thrill of nervous excitement. She knew the steps by heart; every point of the toe and step and skip memorized. Her teacher had often commented on how well she concentrated, and moved her to the front of the class so the other girls could copy her. Practicing her dances to perfection reassured her that when it came to the recital she wouldn't be the girl forgetting her steps and leaving the stage midway through the dance a cringing, tearful, forgetful mess. She practiced every night and worked hard in every lesson to please a father who never came to a single one of her concerts. But...maybe tonight would be different. He knew how important this was to her. She understood that her mother - the only one who had ever come to watch her before - wouldn't come tonight, resting at home and caring for baby Tali. But her mother would want to come, she was sure of it. She loved watching her little girl dance. And maybe, just maybe, she would have persuaded Ziva's father to come along...

The music started onstage and the girls began to shuffle out onto the stage, bumping into another in their haste or hesitation, ushered along by the teacher. Ziva concentrated on remembering her first few steps; tugging at the hem of her dress. They were doing a piece with every member of the dance class; regardless of age or ability. She was to be a dancing sunbeam, dancing with a few of the other girls her age dressed in identical, yellow and orange dresses. Some others were being raindrops, wearing silvery blue; while a group of seven were wearing multicoloured clothes and dancing together as rainbow. The less talented or younger girls were trees or flowers, standing and revolving or swaying on the spot. The older girls had bigger parts; clouds, the Sun and other characters; coming on and off the stage when they needed to - and leaving their proud parents watching in their wake, waiting to congratulate them after. Except Ziva. She had lost count of the times she had watched and waited for a sign of her father; only to eventually give up and trail home alone. As she got onstage and into the glow of the spotlights, she hoped that tonight would be different.

Ziva and the other little sunbeams filed onto the stage and began dancing; Ziva careful to keep in step and remember the movements as best as she could while searching the audience to try and find her father. The spotlights were shining right in her eyes, and it was hard for her to see anyone in the audience clearly. She concentrated on her dancing, pointing a toe and hopping from one foot to the other. Her instructor was watching from the side of the stage, nodding approvingly. Perfectly in time, she lifted her arms and turned once on the spot; moving to the left and out of the glare of the lights. And as her vision cleared; one face stood out in the audience.  
Her father. Her father, who never came to watch her dance. Her father, come to see her dance as a sunbeam tonight. Her father, watching intently; his face devoid of either disapproval or pride. Just watching - for the first time ever.

The shock of seeing her father made Ziva zone out; and it was only when she heard her teacher hiss her name that she realized she had stopped dancing.  
'Ziva, what are you doing?' she whispered, sounding caught between puzzlement and anger.  
Mortified, Ziva tried to remember the next step in her dance. _Turn round, lower your left arm and spin to the right_...was that what she had practiced? Ziva thought so. She hoped so, as she executed the movements - only to realize she had fallen out of time with the other sunbeams. As Ziva span to the right, they stepped to the left - sending Ziva crashing into the nearest other little girl, Sarah; and them both crashing to the floor. The girl on the other side of Sarah stepped back to avoid being taken down; resulting in the other sunbeams being jolted out of focus and completely losing their concentration. One ran off stage. The older girl dancing as the sun turned back around and stopped dead, shocked at the complete mess of limbs and legs that had moments before been a perfect dance routine.

And slowly, everyone turned to look as Ziva, disentangling herself from Sarah and murmuring apologies. She looked up, and was everyone's eyes on her. Her teacher and the other little girls looked furious - which was understandable, as she had just completely ruined their dance routine. Some of the other parents looked sympathetic, others annoyed, others shocked. But the one face Ziva was searching for in the audience was nowhere to be found. Frantically scanning the room; she heard the door at the back open - other than the music still playing though the dance seemed to have ground to a halt, the place was silent. Squinting to see the figure standing there, her stomach twisted and then seemed to evaporate completely as she realized that it was her father. Her dark eyes met his, and as he looked back at her Ziva felt an overwhelming sense of failure. This was what she always practiced so hard for - so that one day he could see her dance and she could make him proud of her. And all she could see in his face was disappointment. He turned away from her, and left the room. Ziva couldn't have been more upset if he had struck her across the face. Anger filled her, then sadness; then humiliation. Her legs shaking and her eyes full of tears, she stood up; the accusatory looks of everyone else there burning into her.

'I'm sorry' she said; the words seeming loud in the silent room. Then Ziva's breath caught in her throat, and she ran off the stage; tears streaming down her burning cheeks. She ran right out of the back door of the dance school, out onto the pavement, searching for any sign of her father. But he had already gone - without her.  
That was the first, last and only time Ziva David's father ever came to watch her dance recital. And all he saw was a failure.

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(Like? Hate? Something neither here nor there? Hit the blue button! Oh, and before anyone asks; yeah, it was inspired by me messing up numerous dance/music/choir recitals regardless of whether my parents showed or not. I think everyone's done it. You know how it feels - I tried to put that in, but I dunno if it worked...Thanks for reading ) 


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